The air in the apartment is thick—stagnant, suffocating. It hasn't been the same since the last fight. Since she walked out and slammed the door behind her, leaving only the sharp scent of smoke and metal in her wake. That was two days ago. Or maybe three. The hours blur together when the silence stretches this long.

You don't even remember what started it. Something small, something stupid. But it never stays small with Sevika. One wrong word, one misplaced look, and suddenly it spirals—venomous accusations, barbed words meant to wound. She knows exactly where to sink the knife, how deep to twist it.

You stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, your jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. The fight had been bad—worse than usual. Sevika had barely spoken at first for what felt like three days, her expression locked in that stony indifference she always wore when she was trying not to snap. Her words cut through you like shattered glass. She didn't hold back. She never did.

"You really think this is gonna last?" she had scoffed, shoving past you, her voice rough from too much smoke, too much whiskey. "Look at yourself. You're clinging to something that's already fucking dead. You and me? We were never meant to work."

You had tried to argue, tried to tell her she didn't mean it—but Sevika had just laughed, bitter and humorless, and then she said it.

"You should find someone better than me. Hell, you should pay a visit to that brothel. At least they don't waste their time trying to fix lost causes."

It had silenced you. Completely.

Now, Sevika sat on the edge of the couch, one elbow propped on her knee, a cigar smoldering between her fingers. The orange glow flickered across her face, highlighting the sharp lines of her jaw, the way her lips pressed together like she was biting back whatever came next. But it wouldn't come.

You knew how this went.

She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling, her metal fingers tapping against the glass tabletop. You saw the tension in her shoulders, the way she avoided your gaze even when you moved. But the moment you turned, you felt it—that stare, heavy and unreadable, pressing against your back. Sevika was always watching.

But the second you turned to meet her eyes, she looked away, jaw tightening, as if she hated herself for it. As if she hated you for seeing her like this.

You swallowed hard, your throat aching with everything you wanted to say.

Outside, the streets of Zaun pulsed with life. Somewhere out there, the brothel was waiting. The bar, too.

And Sevika was thinking about it.

You knew she was.